


life's like this you

by melannen



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, Homestuck
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Troll Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melannen/pseuds/melannen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cats, of course, don't have to deal with quadrants. Cats just find another cat they have feelings for, and go for it. I sometimes think cats are smarter than humans.</p><p>"You know, Mister," I said, "I bet that if I lived in a world where us humans kept things as simple as you cats do, all of this would be a lot less complicated."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reacharound

**Author's Note:**

> for a dresden_kink prompt that requested a Dresden Files/Homestuck crossover, this is a DF Troll Romance AU

I would like to say I was having a crappy day, but such is my life that today didn't even rate on the crappy scale. Complicated, though, I could maybe do complicated.

I spend most of the morning chasing some creature from the Nevernever that had too many legs and way more destructive talent than its general power level would've predicted. I finally caught up to it mid-afternoon, but it turned out that I was about ten minutes behind John Marcone and some of his men.

'Gentleman' Johnny Marcone is the head of Chicago's organized crime outfit. Lately, as kind of a sideline, he's also taken to meddling in the supernatural. When he shows up, complicated just happens. And, okay, we end up on the same side more than otherwise, and somehow half the time he appears on the scene in some kind of unfairly sexy military fetish gear that shows off his muscles, but that doesn't mean I actually like the guy.

For the record, he's not my kismesis either.

"For the record, I'm never going to be your kismesis," I told him. We'd ducked into an empty alleyway while his men worked on cleaning up the mess.

He didn't answer immediately, mostly because he was busy sucking on the side of my neck. "And you'd better not be leaving a mark," I added. So, yeah, we do fuck sometimes. It's a stress-release thing. I don't have anyone in my concupiscent quadrants, and he didn't either. At least, I didn't think he did.

"Of course you aren't, Harry," he replied. "I already have a kismesis. You're my matesprit. I'm just taking what I can get until you finally realize that."

Obviously, what I should have done is immediately point out to him that he was delusional, I was even less likely to ever be his matesprit than his kismesis. Unfortunately, that was right about when he managed to get me out of my pants, and I sort of went nonverbal for a little while. And after that, well, it's really impolite not to reciprocate when somebody does something like that to you.

So I didn't get back to the conversation we'd left hanging until a few minutes later, when I was slumped kind of wrecked and rumpled and a little bit too relaxed against a wall. Marcone was, of course, pretty much immaculate already, and when I muttered, "And we're not matesprits either," back at him, he just smirked at me and said, "You believe what you need to believe, Harry," before he walked away.

Smug bastard.

Since when did he "already have a kismesis", anyway?


	2. Broken Swords and Dead Birds

I had a date with Karrin Murphy for dinner. I mean a dinner date, not a date-date. I mean, we had to go over some police files for a case I'd worked on with her and SI.

...fine, it was a date-date, but don't go spreading that around. Chicago PD doesn't like it much when their lieutenants go pairing off with eccentric consultants who like to set things on fire. I'd never really expected to end up paired with Murph, to be honest. She was amazing and totally out of my league, but sure, I'd dreamed of it. I could have been redrom with Murph, or even the palest of pale, and in our worst times I'd let myself imagine blackrom between us once or twice (Murph is really good with handcuffs.)

I don't think either of us expected ashen, but, well, once the ashes finally settled, there we were. The first thing she said as I slid into the Burger King booth across from her was, "You let Marcone fuck you again, didn't you?" in a tone of great long-suffering.

"Stars and stones, Murph, what do you think I am?"

"I think you're somebody with a hickey showing under your duster," she said. "When are you just going to admit that he's your kismesis, Harry?"

"He's not my kismesis!" I said.

She just looked at me.

"He's not! Besides, he already has a kismesis," I added. "Which, might I add," I gestured with the hand that held my burger, "Is totally unfair. Since when is Marcone allowed to have a kismesis already? Does everybody have more quadrants full than I do?"

"If Marcone already has a kismesis, what is he doing fucking you?" Murph asked with interest. "Do I smell black infidelity?"

"He claims we're matesprits," I said gloomily. "And he's not fucking me," I tried, but lying to your auspistice just never works, so I added, "We just ... sometimes fuck, that's all."

I don't think Murph actually caught the last bit anyway. She was laughing so hard she'd choked on her coffee, and I was about to get up and try a Heimlich maneuver by the time she managed to catch her breath and say, "Matesprits? You have got to be kidding me. Harry, your romantic life never ceases to be entertaining."

"You are such a sensitive and understanding auspistice," I told her, and stole a handful of french fries. "So have you decided whether Kincaid's your matesprit or kismesis yet? Or are you going to go for the really kinky stuff?" I widened my eyes at her. "Do tell! And I want details." Nobody ever said auspisticism was about altruism, after all. And objectively, they're both hot.

Murphy blushed as pink as her bedsheets. "We're neither one! We're just having fun. And don't think I'm going to let you get away with changing the subject like that."

"Don't think I'm going to let you get away with stringing this out any longer! You know it's not healthy, Murph. How long were you in a cast after the last time the two of you took a 'vacation' together?"

The thing is, nobody would have said Murph and I were qualified to auspistice for anybody, much less each other. When we met, I was in a long stretch of avoiding romance altogether, and she had just finished the last of a bunch of really awful attempts at matespritship. But somehow, put us together and let us snarl at each other for awhile, and everything else starts working.

"It's just fun, like I've been telling you, Harry! There's no--" she wrinkled up her nose, "feelings involved. And the broken arm was an accident. I'm allowed to just have fun with Mr. Right There. And don't try to claim that the same thing applies to you and Marcone," she cut me off.

"It's just stress relief, I told you," I tried instead.

"If it was just stress relief, you would be ending up, and I realize this is an unfamiliar concept for you, less stressed as a result," she told me seriously. "Besides, keep saying that and I'll start pulling out the other M-word."

I honest-to-god shuddered. Me and Marcone as moirails? "If were were lucky," I said, "That would end with Chicago intact, and just the rest of the world on fire."

"I know," said Murph. "Because I am the very bestest of auspistices and I can figure that sort of thing out. Which is why you should stop trying to pull this "stress relief" bullshit on yourself." She paused. "You do need a moirail though."

"I know, I know," I said.

"Any new prospects?"

I shook my head. Someday. There's something really wrong when a person has all their quadrants empty except for auspistice. A completely blank romantic life shouldn't require that much management.

Like I said, complicated.


	3. Bacchanalia and Fate

"Murph thinks I need a moirail," I told Bob as I climbed down into my laboratory.

"She's right, Boss, you do need a moirail. Desperately," Bob told me. "Of all the people I know, you're probably most likely to flip out and kill people." He stopped and thought about that for a second. "Of course, the only people I see very much these days are you and Mister, and he's a little ball of aggression and seething anger when you get right down to it, too, so maybe I don't have the proper basis of comparison. You should let me have a day out to research."

"Speaking of a risk of flipping out and killing people," I told him. "No."

"I wouldn't kill anyone!" he wailed. "Just cause an orgy or two. It's not like you're doing your part there. Although I see you ran into Marcone again today," he added lasciviously.

I slapped a hand against my neck and growled, "Hell's bells, I told him not to mark me."

"Don't worry, Boss, everybody already knows."

"Yes, yes, I got enough of that from Murph already," I growled. "Can we talk about something else, maybe?"

"I had this really awesome idea for a protection potion," Bob said. "Based on an old sealing curse. You up for it?"

"An evening in the laboratory," I said. "Sounds like exactly what I need. Thanks, Bob."

"That's what I'm here for!" Bob said cheerfully. "Hey, didja bring me any new literature?"

I tugged the thin paperback out of my back pocket and dropped it on Bob's shelf.

"The Billionaire Sheikh's Virgin Secretary's Secret Baby!" Bob said delightedly. "Harry, I love you."

Say what you will about Bob, complicated he is not.


	4. Moebius

The evening working with Bob was exactly what I needed. We ended up experimenting with the potion until after midnight, and I forgot about all the complicated from the rest of the day until I came upstairs and flopped down on my bed, exhausted.

Then it started playing in full technicolor behind my eyelids. Especially the part where I had just sucked Marcone off, and I looked up at him smirking at me. And the part where he said, "I already have a kismesis."

In no universe should Marcone have three of his quadrants full when I've just got Murphy. And while she's almost as unlucky with romance as I was, even Murphy, I was pretty sure, was eventually going to figure out that what she had with Kincaid was totally matespritship, and then give in to Rudolph's blatant and frequent blackrom overtures.

As for Marcone, I already knew he had his pale and ashen - nobody could see him and Hendricks together and not see the little pale diamonds floating above their heads, and I thought the new bodyguard, the blonde one, was auspisticing for him, at least sometimes. I didn't have a clue about this new kismesis, though. I consoled myself for a little while by deciding that he must be just as delusional about that quadrant as he was about our supposed, and ridiculous, "matespritship". As if.

"It's still not fair that he's getting at least twice as much sex as I am," I said aloud to my empty bedroom.

"I find that hard to believe," said a female voice. I ratcheted my head up just enough to squint at the shadow of Lasciel, sitting primly on the foot of the bed. "Since we've been having rather amazing amounts of sex."

I groaned, closed my eyes, and draped an arm over them. It didn't help. The scene behind my eyelids was exactly the same as the one outside, except that instead of sitting at the foot of the bed, Lash was draped over me like cheap pajamas. "Whatever you and my id get up to when I'm not looking doesn't count," I told her. "I don't know about it, and -ah-!" I put a hand over her mouth before she could start. "I don't want to know. Go away."

She licked my hand and I snatched it away. "You are such a fuddy-duddy, my host," she said. "And I know that's not who you really are, because your subconscious--" she licked her lips dreamily.

I couldn't help staring. I'm only human, okay? But what I said was, "Lash. Go away. I don't care, go do disgusting things with my subconscious if you have to, just don't do it where I have to watch."

"You could join in, if you wanted," she said, and walked her fingers down my suddenly bare chest. "I know you'd like it. He knows you'd like it. He's you, my host, after all."

Lash may be second cousin to a fallen angel, but we were in my head, and when I said "Go away," a third time, she knew better than to waste energy fighting it.

She sighed, though, and as she faded away, she said, "You could at least go to sleep so we have more room to play."

When I was sure she was actually done messing with me, or at least with conscious me, I opened my eyes again. Yep. Same old bedroom. Mister, my cat, hopped up onto the bed and curled up next to me, purring.

I stroked his neck absently. "So, if my evil alter-ego is having a torrid affair with the fallen angel who lives in my head, does that make her my kismesis or my matesprit? Or does it just mean I should go see a psychiatrist?"

Mister didn't say anything.

Cats, of course, don't have to deal with quadrants. Cats just find another cat they have feelings for, and go for it. I sometimes think cats are smarter than humans.

"You know, Mister," I said, "I bet that if I lived in a world where us humans kept things as simple as you cats do, all of this would be a lot less complicated."


End file.
